


His and Hers

by starhawk2005



Category: House M.D.
Genre: F/M, Het, Masturbation, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-08-22
Updated: 2012-08-22
Packaged: 2017-11-12 16:48:51
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,120
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/493512
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/starhawk2005/pseuds/starhawk2005
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Evening clothes touch off a powder-keg of fantasizing…in both parties.</p>
            </blockquote>





	His and Hers

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: Not mine. If they were, next week’s ep. wouldn’t be the end of S2. It would go on through the summer and culminate in the start of S3 in September….  
> Beta: Thanks as always to the many-splendored katakombs.  
> Author’s Notes: Spoilery for S2.  
> Written in response to the third smut!challenge at the House/Cameron Smut-A-Thon comm.  
> The requirements were: Incorporation of House gawping at the Red!Dress/ Smut occurring somewhere on the PPTH grounds  
> And it had to include at least one of the following lines: 1) "He stared at her in disbelief.", 2) "How hard does it have to be?", 3) "Why are you so stubborn?", 4) "Just shut up already."  
> I got them ALL in. I rock, apparently. ;)

The look on his face had been _so_ worth it. She normally didn’t do dresses or skirts, she preferred to wear pants when she was working. And she certainly hadn’t dressed up to please him – more to please Cuddy, by dressing appropriately - or even with the expectation of catching his attention.  She knew better by now. So his reaction had just been the icing on the cake.

The way he’d let his words trail off. The expression that had passed over his face. The way he’d blinked, as if dazed, and then asked them: “What were we talking about?” 

It had taken a lot of effort not to betray her own pleasure in his attention, but she’d managed somehow. And now she was at home, lying on her back in bed, with the red dress in question hanging neatly in her closet, waiting to go to the dry cleaner’s tomorrow.

She kept seeing his face behind her closed lids, his expression of surprise. Perhaps even _desire_ , if one could say such a thing of Gregory House. And these thoughts made her feel warm and tingly all over. Smiling to herself, she let her hand slide down her belly, moving closer to the delicious ache between her legs. ****

 

***

 

_He stared at her in disbelief. Like he’d never seen her before. But in a way, he hadn’t, had he? Even on their doomed date, she hadn’t looked this…hot. All pale shoulders and soft hair and shiny red lips. Damn, he’d already been pitching a pup-tent in his fancy pants by the time he’d turned back to the Whiteboard. Zero to sixty in less than ten seconds, by God._

_He’d tried to give her a discreet once-over later when no one else was looking, but of course that hadn’t helped matters. Wondering what those lips would look like, wrapped around his fingers. What they might feel like, leaving their little red-kiss marks all over him. How that shiny-smooth dress fabric might feel under his hands, and against his bare skin._

_He managed to focus on the case, but it was a near thing. Thanks to his own need to solve the twelve-year-old mystery, he was quickly able to focus back on Esther, on the child. But thoughts of Cameron and that dress kept trying to break in again. And often succeeding, even if only for a few seconds._

_Once it was over and he’d finally solved the case, he’d gone down to win some money from_ _Wilson_ _, if he could. But he kept getting distracted by his own x-rated thoughts, involving a certain Duckling and a certain red dress she’d been wearing._

_“House!”_ _Wilson_ _said, and House realized he’d been off wool-gathering – ‘dress-gathering’? - yet again. “Earth to House!”_

_“I’m here, Earthling. Call,” he shot back. ****_

_“Not so fast. You seem…distracted. I’ll bet I know why, too,” _ _Wilson_ _said, looking sly._

_“Do you?” House asked, feigning disinterest. He pulled another cigar out of his pocket, chomping on the tip, and then obnoxiously used his lips to wiggle the cigar wildly around._

_“I saw you giving Cameron a ‘full-body scan’. And I don’t mean a CT.”_

_“I don’t know what you mean,” House shot back grumpily. Great, just what he needed. Losing two hands to Jimmy because of his distracting thoughts of Cameron, and now this._

_“Why are you so stubborn? You want her, she wants you_. Do _something about it, already,”_ _Wilson_ _pushed, clearly enjoying this way too much._

 _“Just_ shut up _already,” House sniped back. Man, he was going to make Jim pay for this._

_But Jimmy persisted. “How hard does it have to be? You asked her to go with you to the monster truck rally. It didn’t kill you that time. Asking her out again won’t kill you, either.”_

_“Shut up and play the damned game, or I’m leaving right now.”_

 

***

 

Allison let her fingers stroke softly along the inside of her thigh, eyes still closed, picturing House in his tux. Man, he’d looked good. Even later on, with the jacket gone and the sleeves of his white shirt rolled up to the elbows, he’d looked good enough to _eat._

But her mind kept going back to the way he’d looked at her. _Gawped_ at her, she thought that was the ‘technical’ term. She let her other hand move to her breast, caressing the soft flesh, not touching her nipple yet. Building the tension.

In her mind’s eye, she deleted Chase and Foreman from the Diagnostic conference room. No, from the hospital. In fact, she deleted the entire population of PPTH from the grounds. Better. Then it was just her and House.

She pictured him _gawping_ , and then limping over to her. Towering over her, smelling of alcohol and cigar smoke and aftershave. “That’s a pretty dress, Doctor.” she imagined him saying in a low gravel-edged voice. “Are you wearing matching undergarments?”

In her bed, Allison started to stroke her nipple gently. In her head, in the imagined Diagnostic conference room, she made herself reply boldly: “Why not see for yourself, _Doctor_?”

The images in her mind shifted, and she was on the conference table, on her back. House still looming over her. She felt his hands – warm, strong – grip her legs, making her bend her knees and place her feet up on the table. She could imagine the squeaking sound of her red stiletto heels trying to find purchase on the smooth cool glass of the table.

Allison finally squeezed her nipple, closing her eyes and breathing deeply. Imagined that the hand stroking along the inside of her thigh belonged to House,that he was leaning over her, a hand under the fabric of her dress, callused fingertips exploring the sensitive surface of her inner thigh. He pushed the red material up, bunching it around her waist, and she could almost feel those blue eyes searing her with their heat.

“Very nice,” he purred, after a moment of this visual devouring. “But I want to see the whole set.” His fingers left her thigh – in the real world, Allison mirrored this action with her own hand – and he limped a few slow paces around the table. Pure evil intent in his gaze, she imagined him using the silver handle of his cane to hook the top edge of her bodice, tugging. She squirmed, helping him, letting him pull the material away. Arching her back, both in bed and in her mind, on the hard surface of the table, she displayed herself for him. ****

Allison – the Allison that was at home in bed – found herself getting too aroused, too fast. And she wanted this to last. She let both hands caress her own breasts, although once again she avoided both nipples. And allowed her own personal porn movie, starring her and House, to continue to play behind her lids.

 

***

_It was late when he’d gotten home. Smug and satisfied, after having won all his money back from_ _Wilson_ _from the two earlier lost hands. He decided to have yet another Scotch and cigar in celebration, discarding the jacket and stupid bow-tie on the couch, trading his fancy cane (his ‘pimp cane’, he liked to think of it) for the beat-up older one. Damn_ _Wilson_ _for sawing through his favourite cane. Although he’d asked for it, hadn’t he? But at least he knew he’d be spending the night alone – Jimmy-Boy had moved out two days earlier._

_Which he soon decided was good, very good indeed. Because otherwise he’d have been forced to hang his stethoscope on the door again. And he wasn’t in the mood for_ _Wilson_ _’s aggrieved whining._

_No, he’d had a mental date with a certain red dress-owning Duckling. It wasn’t the first time he’d had to do this, to exorcise her from his mind. Wistfully, the night of the monster truck rally, after dropping her off at home. Angrily, the night he’d figured out that she’d done Chase. And perhaps even more oddly, the night they’d gone on their restaurant date. His lips may have said no, but his dick had said yes, yes, yes, and I’ll_ explode _if you don’t do something about it right now. So he had. Similar to what he was planning to do momentarily._

_He hitched into the bedroom, stubbed out his cigar and swilled the last of the scotch. Then sat on the bed and stripped off shirt, undershirt, pants, socks, boxer-briefs - did she ever wonder whether he was a boxers or a briefs man? Had she harboured any lustful thoughts of him when she’d seen him half-naked and wet after his shower, that day when he’d tried to ruin Weber’s research?_

_He turned off the light – this was always much easier in the dark, for some reason – and slid his hand down his own body. Despite what he’d told_ _Wilson_ _, he’s actually not much for foreplay after all. He ran light fingertips over his own shaft, already more than half-hard, just from imagining Cameron in her red dress. Those fuck-me heels. Those red lips. _

_He closed his eyes, picturing his own chest, but with a circle of red lip-marks around each of his nipples. And then going in a jagged line down his belly, as it followed the trail of hair. He imagined her between his spread legs, kneeling on his bed. He breathed in, thinking that he could almost smell the perfume she’d been wearing that evening – something musky, flowery – could practically_ feel _that smooth dress fabric brushing against his legs._

_In his mind’s eye, she’d pulled the top of the dress down, and she was naked (of course) underneath. He pictured the creamy white skin, imagined her nipples as small and tight and dark, ripe for the plucking. Imagined her teasing him by keeping the rest of her dress on, still hiding the rest of herself from him. For now._

_He wrapped his hand around himself, slowly pumping. His fingers brushed across the swelling head at the top of each stroke, breaths coming faster. In his head, Cameron smiled wickedly, green-blue eyes gleaming seductively, and leaned over, wrapping small hands around his cock and lifting it to her mouth._

_How deliciously twisted, to visualize that sweet, goody two-shoes mouth doing such wicked things to his raging hard-on. In real life, he stroked faster, used to the calluses by now, while his other hand caressed his balls. And the dream-Cameron’s mouth engulfed him, heat and wetness bathing his ache, while those slender fingers mirrored his own actions, also caressed his balls. She pulled back, licked slowly up the length of his shaft, following the thick veins, still watching him. Pure seductress. And the heat gathered and pooled along his spine, in his groin, distracting from the much less fun aches in his back, his thigh…_ Oh yeah, this is going to be a good one, _he thought._

 __

***

 

Allison visualized House leaning down, taking one of her nipples in his mouth. She imagined his lips as soft – they certainly _looked_ soft, even given all the harsh things that came flying out of that mouth – and his stubble as prickly. She knew she wouldn’t mind, though, as she arched her back and started to pull on her own nipples, as she imagined that mouth suckling, teeth nipping. She imagined moaning, and him chuckling.

He’d probably make some superior male remark, but Allison didn’t let him. Instead, she made him reappear back between her thighs, this time sitting in a chair and his hands on her hips, pulling her closer to the edge of the table. He was rough, impatient, _passionate_ , tearing the thong underwear down, shoving her legs together to pull it free, and then shoving her legs apart just as roughly. She didn’t know what that stubble would feel like against her labia, her clit – all her boyfriends to date had been fresh-faced, clean-shaven, even her late husband – but she imagined it would feel _interesting_. A mild burn, which House would then ease with his wet tongue, those soft lips.

She had her hand back between her thighs, rubbing against her clit. And she imagined House doing the same, working her nerve endings with that talented mouth. It was surprisingly easy, somehow, to picture him slurping on her clit. To picture his tongue as it laved her in steady strokes, from her soaked entrance to the throbbing bud. Maybe it was all the lollipops she’d watched him eat over the months.

She felt heat radiating from her neck, her upper chest, felt sweat starting to gather at her temples. She was going to come soon, and come hard. _Poor scared House, not knowing what he’s missing._

 

***

 

_He tightened his hand around himself, gasping. He could have added lube, grabbed the ID Glide from the top drawer of his night-table. But then he would come fast, and he didn’t want to. He wasn’t done fucking yet. Even if it_ was _only fucking a fantasy._

_She was still blowing him, using her tongue way too familiarly against his sweet spot. Taking him so deep into her throat that it was highly unlikely that any woman could have done that in real life without gagging. And he still had her stroking his balls, sometimes even scratching them lightly with her nails._

_But he wanted more. Even in his own fantasies, he always wanted the full Technicolour experience. So he made her shift position, moving into a 69 with him, so she could continue to service him, while he satisfied his curiosity as to what else lay beneath the shiny red fabric._

_He imagined her dress falling around his face, encasing him in a tent of red, concentrating the scent of her sexual perfume. She wasn’t wearing panties, either – of course – and he imagined her pubic hair was dark, nearly black. And damp and savory with her juices when he took hold of her hips and pulled her down onto his mouth, parting the curls with his tongue._

_He still imagined her mouth on him, even though his dream-self could no longer ‘watch’ the action. She had her head between his thighs, licking his balls with small laps of her tongue. And he imagined her clit swollen and pulsing insistently, getting larger as he teased it, now moving the flat of his tongue slowly across it, now flicking it with the tip._

_In real life, House licked his lips and tightened his grip on himself still further, his hand moving faster. Soon, soon._

__

_***_

 

Allison pushed two fingers inside of herself, made the House in her head do exactly the same thing with those long fingers. And her free hand rubbed furiously against her own clit, imagining his tongue still curled around it, doing incredible things to her.

The picture in her head suddenly shifted again, fragmenting as her thoughts started to short-circuit. Now, House had mounted her, was inside her. She imagined him between her legs, pumping quickly, his white shirt unbuttoned and darkened with sweat at the chest and under his arms. She remembered what that chest looked like, naked and wet, from catching him after his shower weeks earlier. Her spinning mind conjured those images once again, now with sweat glistening along the flat planes of those muscles. She imagined his dress pants were out of the way, too, crumpled around his ankles, but of course in her fantasy she didn’t let that hobble his performance. Her dream self looked down, craning to see over the folds of crumpled red fabric, as his glistening shaft slid into her again and again, speeding up and getting rougher with every thrust.

And then even that image was lost, breaking into shards as she gave in, as she pushed her fingers deep into herself and pressed hard on her clit one last time. As heat and shocks traveled outward from inside her, dissolved her, turned her into pure sensation.

***

 _He liked this fantasy, but he_ still _wanted more. He wanted to watch her come, wanted to watch the beads of sweat run down those creamy breasts as she pumped herself so willingly onto his cock._

_So he did just that, reconjured her onto himself, and himself into her. Her dress was still there, crumpled around her waist and draped haphazardly over his body, darkened with sweat, and possibly other fluids, in places._

_House had both hands around his cock. One squeezed the head, one stroked rapidly up and down, as the Cameron in his head rode him with abandon. He imagined her heat wrapped around his cock, imagined her so wet that he could feel the tickle of her juices drip down his balls, even over the dead places in his thigh. He pictured her throwing her head back, sweat-soaked strands of hair flying, the white skin of her throat and upper chest now flushed pink. Totally wanton, he imagined her hands stimulating her own nipples, squeezing and tugging, putting on a show for his delectation._

_He imagined her convulsing around his cock, screaming out his name. And in the real world, alone in his darkened bedroom, he arched his own body, growled between gritted teeth, splattered everywhere as the climax took over. Erasing everything else._

_It didn’t take long to recover. He wiped himself off unceremoniously with the sheet, then rolled away to the other side of the bed. Drowsy and sated, he still saw flashes of shiny red and pale skin behind his eyes, but it would do._

_Looked like he’d be getting a lot of ‘mileage’ out of that dress._ Goody.

 _He fell asleep before he could feel more than distant regret about how much more ‘mileage’ he could get out of the dress’s _owner _, if he would only try…_

***

 

She relaxed against the pillows, body heavy and languorous. Satisfied. Or at least, as satisfied as she could be, without the object of her affections actually _in_ her bed.

But instead of feeling down about that, feeling down about being alone and having to bring herself off by herself, she chose instead to remember the way he’d looked at her. The way she’d distracted him. And considering how much this case had meant to him, how obsessed he’d been over it, the fact she’d managed to turn him from his course, for however brief a fraction of time – that _had_ to be a good sign.

Maybe there was still some hope for them, yet.

She snapped off the light and settled herself comfortably, already starting to drift off. _Too bad I can’t wear cocktail dresses to work every day,_ she thought with a smile. _Still, we don’t want to_ overload _his senses,_ was her last coherent thought, as she sank down into dreams where House turned endlessly around to admire her.


End file.
